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HIDE AND SEEK 
CHRISTOPHER MORLEY 



Books By 
CHRISTOPHER MORLEY 

HIDE AND SEEK 

THE ROCKING HORSE 

SONGS FOR A LITTLE HOUSE 

MINCE PIE 

PARNASSUS ON WHEELS 

SHANDYGAFF 

THE HAUNTED BOOKSHOP 



HIDE and SEEK 

BY 

CHRISTOPHER MORLEY 



" There be some whose pleasure is to seek Truth; 
others whose merriment is to hide her or trick her 
out in freakish guise. Of both sorts much may 
be said; yet meseems that a man may well speak 
plain sooth at times" 

— JOHN MISTLETOE. 




NEW XBJT YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



4* 



4& -$> 



COPYRIGHT, 1920, 
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



OCT 20 1920 
©CI.A601084 



TO H. F. M. 

A SONNET IN SUNLIGHT 

rw iHIS IS a day for sonnets: Oh how clear 

-* Our splendid cliffs and summits lift the gaze— 

If all the perfect moments of the year 

Were poured and gathered in one sudden blaze, 
Then, then perhaps, in some endowered phrase 

My fiat, strewn words would rise and come more near 
To tell of you. Your beauty and your praise 

Would fall like sunlight on this paper here. 

Then I would build a sonnet that would stand 
Proud and perennial on this pale bright sky; 

So tall, so steep, that it might stay the hand 
Of Time, the dusty wrecker. He would sigh 

To tear my strong words down. And he would say: 

" That song he built for her, one summer day," 



These verses were first published by The New York 
Evening Post, The Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger, 
Life, Collier's, and House and Garden. The author 
gratefully acknowledges their permission to reprint. 

Roslyn, Long Island, 
July, 1920 



CONTENTS 

PART ONE: VERSES 

PAGE 

Taking Title 15 

To an Old-Fashioned Poet 17 

Burning Leaves in Spring 18 

The Savage 19 

St. Paul's and Woolworth 21 

Advice to a City 22 

To Louise 23 

The Music Box 25 

A Wedded Valentine 27 

Meditation on Some Bookshelves 28 

Rapid Transit 31 

The Victorian Poet in His Rondotage 32 

Caught in the Undertow 33 

Sunday Night 34 

To His Brown-Eyed Mistress 36 

Peace 37 

Mounted Police 39 

Song, In Deprecation of Pulchritude 40 

On a White Muslin Dress 41 

A Valentine 42 

In Re Alfred Emery Cathie 43 

Daffodils . . . . 44 

IX 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

To His Mistress, Deploring That He Is Not an Eliza- 
bethan Galaxy 45 

The Intruder 47 

Confessions in a Hash House 48 

Tit for Tat 50 

The Twins 51 

Nursery Rhymes for the Tender Hearted 52 

The Superman 5$ 

To a Telephone Operator 57 

My Own Spring Song 58 

The Urban Poet 59 

Musings on a Cool Retreat 61 

PART TWO: SONNETS 

Quickening 65 

At a Window Sill 66 

The River of Light 67 

In an Auction Room 69 

Epitaph for a Poet Who Wrote No Poetry 70 

To a Vaudeville Terrier 71 

To a Burlesque Soubrette 72 

Sonnets of a Geometer 73 

Sonnets in Time of Trial 74 

To an Old Friend 76 

Thoughts While Packing a Trunk 77 

The Two-man Saw 78 

A Sonnet on Oysters 79 

In Philadelphia 80 

— x — 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

To My Wife 82 

Hostages 83 

PART THREE: TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 

Translator's Note 87 

No Sho 89 

Pu'r Fish 101 

Po Lil Chile 104 

Sai Wen 106 

Chtj Pep-Sin 110 

OB'ot 117 



XI- 



PART ONE: VERSES 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TAKING TITLE 

TO make this house my very own 
Could not be done by law alone. 
Though covenant and deed convey 
Absolute fee, as lawyers say, 
There are domestic rites beside 
By which this house is sanctified. 



By kindled fire upon the hearth, 
By planted pansies in the garth, 
By food, and by the quiet rest 
Of those brown eyes that I love best, 
And by a friend's bright gift of wine, 
I dedicate this house of mine. 



When all but I are soft abed 
I trail about my quiet stead 
A wreath of blue tobacco smoke 
(A charm that evil never broke) 
—15— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TAKING TITLE— (continued) 

And bring my ritual to an end 
By giving shelter to a friend. 

These done, O dwelling, you become 
Not just a house, but truly Home ! 



16— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO AN OLD-FASHIONED POET 
(Lizette Woodworth Reese.) 

MOST tender poet, when the gods confer 
They save your gracile songs a nook apart. 
And bless with Time's untainted lavender 
The ageless April of your singing heart. 

You, in an age unbridled, ne'er declined 

The appointed patience that the Muse decrees, 

Until, deep in the flower of the mind 

The hovering words alight, like bridegroom bees. 

By casual praise or casual blame unstirred 

The placid gods grant gifts where they belong: 

To you, who understand, the perfect word, 
The recompensed necessities of song. 



—17— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



BURNING LEAVES IN SPRING 

WHEN withered leaves are lost in flame 
Their eddying ghosts, a thin blue haze, 
Blow through the thickets whence they came 
On amberlucent autumn days. 

The cool green woodland heart receives 
Their dim, dissolving, phantom breath ; 

In young hereditary leaves 

They see their happy life-in-death. 

My minutes perish as they glow — 

Time burns my crazy bonfire through; 

But ghosts of blackened hours still blow, 
Eternal Beauty, back to you! 



—18— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE SAVAGE 



CIVILIZATION causes me 
Alternate fits : disgust and glee, 



Buried in piles of glass and stone 
My private spirit moves alone, 

Where every day from eight to six 
I keep alive by hasty tricks. 

But I am simple in my soul; 
My mind is sullen to control. 

At dusk I smell the scent of earth, 
And I am dumb — too glad for mirth. 

I know the savors night can give, 
And then, and then, I live, I live I 

No man is wholly pure and free, 
For that is not his destiny, 

—19— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE SAVAGE— (continued) 



But though I bend, I will not break : 
And still be savage, for Truth's sake. 

God damns the easily convinced 
(Like Pilate, when his hands he rinsed) 



—20— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



ST. PAUL'S AND WOOLWORTH 

I STOOD on the pavement 
Where I could admire 
Behind the brown chapel 
The cream and gold spire. 

Above, gilded Lightning 
Swam high on his ball — 

I saw the noon shadow 
The church of St. Paul. 

And was there a meaning? 

(My fancy would run), 
Saint Paul in the shadow, 

Saint Frank in the sun ! 



21— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



ADVICE TO A CITY 

OCITY, cage your poets ! Hem them in 
And roof them over from the April sky — 
Clatter them round with babble, ceaseless din, 
And drown their voices with your thunder cry. 

Forbid their free feet on the windy hills, 
And harness them to daily ruts of stone — 

(In florists' windows lock the daffodils) 
And never, never let them be alone ! 

For they are curst, said poets, curst and lewd, 
And freedom gives their tongues uncanny wit, 

And granted silence, thought and solitude 
They (absit omen!) might make Song of it. 

So cage them in, and stand about them thick, 
And keep them busy with their daily bread ; 

And should their eyes seem strange, ah, then be 
quick 
To interrupt them ere the word be said. . . . 

For, if their hearts burn with sufficient rage, 
With wasted sunsets and frustrated youth, 

Some day they'll cry, on some disturbing page, 
The savage, sweet, unpalatable truth ! 
—22— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO LOUISE 

(A Christmas Baby, Now One Year Old.) 

UNDAUNTED by a world of grief, 
You came upon perplexing days, 
And cynics doubt their disbelief 
To see the sky-stains in your gaze. 



Your sudden and inclusive smile 

And your emphatic tears, admit 

That you must find this life worth while, 

So eagerly you clutch at it ! 



Your face of triumph says, brave mite, 
That life is full of love and luck — 
Of blankets to kick off at night, 
And two soft rose-pink thumbs to suck. 



O loveliest of pioneers 
Upon this trail of long surprise, 
May all the stages of the years 
Show such enchantment in your eyes ! 

—23— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO LOUISE— (continued) 

By parents' patient buttonings, 
And endless safety pins, you'll grow 
To ribbons, garters, hooks and things, 
Up to the Ultimate Trousseau — 

But never, in your dainty prime, 

Will you be more adored by me 

Than when you see, this Great First Time, 

Lit candles on a Christmas Tree ! 

December, 1919. 



24— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE MUSIC BOX 

AT SIX — long ere the wintry dawn — 
There sounded through the silent hall 
To where I lay, with blankets drawn 
Above my ears, a plaintive call. 

The Urchin, in the eagerness 

Of three years old, could not refrain ; 
Awake, he straightway yearned to dress 

And frolic with his clockwork train. 

I heard him with a sullen shock. 

His sister, by her usual plan, 
Had piped us aft at 8 o'clock — 

I vowed to quench the little man. 

I leaned above him, somewhat stern, 
And spoke, I fear, with emphasis — 

Ah, how much better, parents learn, 
To seal one's censure with a kiss ! 

Again the house was dark and still, 
Again I lay in slumber's snare, 

When down the hall I heard a trill, 
A tiny, tinkling, tuneful air — 

—25— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE MUSIC BOX— (continued) 

His music-box! His best-loved toy ? 

His crib companion every night; 
And now he turned to it for joy 

While waiting for the lagging light. 

How clear, and how absurdly sad 

Those tingling pricks of sound unrolled ; 

They chirped and quavered, as the lad 
His lonely little heart consoled. 

Columbia, the Ocean's Gem — 

(Its only tune) shrilled sweet and faint. 
He cranked the chimes, admiring them 

In vigil gay, without complaint. 

The treble music piped and stirred, 
The leaping air that was his bliss ; 

And, as I most contritely heard, 
I thanked the all-unconscious Swiss! 

The needled jets of melody 

Rang slowlier and died away — 

The Urchin slept ; and it was I 
Who lay and waited for the day. 



-26— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



A WEDDED VALENTINE 

DEAR, may I be your Valentine? 
Not just to-day, in weather fine; 
Not just to-day, in lover's mood, 
But through life's each vicissitude. 

Not just when girlish eyes still shine, 
Dear, may I be your Valentine, 
But through all mortal whims and fits 
While Time our human fibres knits. 

And though, most sweet, my peevish earth 
Is hardly such promotion worth, 
Dear, may I be your Valentine 
And learn to make your virtue mine? 

Recalling by love's old refrain 
Our double joy, divided pain, 
I write this pleading, smiling line — 
Dear, may I be your Valentine? 



—n— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MEDITATION ON SOME BOOKSHELVES 
SHORTLY TO BE BUILT 

Assiduus sis m bibliotheca, quae tibi Paradisi loco est. 

— Erasmus to Bishop Fisher. 

FRIEND carpenter, in re those shelves of mine, 
It matters little of what wood you build 
them: 
Seek out no oak or walnut; common pine, 

Or cypress, will look well when I have filled them. 

No doors of glass, or scroll-work done for looks ; 

No cornices, no carving, and no beading — 
The ornaments of bookshelves are the books, 

And mine are not for show, but all for reading. 

The topmost shelf eight inches, if you please, 
To hold my dumpy twelves and my 16mos ; 

The others measured taller by degrees 

For bigger books — like Adams and his keen mots. 

And now, while all my volumes are still boxed 
And stand about in dreary packing cases, 

I'll think about their pages — clean or foxed — 
And plan just how I'll put them in their places. 
—28— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MEDITATION ON BOOKSHELVES— (continued) 



My "Everymans" — six feet of varied hue — 
Chatto and Windus' pocket R. L. S.'s — 

The India-paper Boswell, fat and blue, 

A noble bit of work from Oxford's presses. 

The small red Shakespeares — Robby Burns's tunes — 
My Bunyan, my "Urn Burial," my Borrow — 

The bright green Lamb (thin paper) made by 
Newnes — 
(I wish those shelves could be done by to-morrow !) 

The tiny Omar from Southampton Row 

Tersely inscribed with two sets of initials, 

Which same (the first I gave Her, long ago) 
Brought us at last to City Hall officials. 

The Houghton-Mifflin Keats means much to me 
(Bought from John Wanamaker, when a strip- 
ling), 
And Thomas Mosher's grand facsimile 

Of "Leaves of Grass" (the First) — and here's my 
Kipling ! 

"Vergiiii Maronis Opera" 

Imprinted 1873 at Leipsic; 
My Goldsmith, stained with tea at Thompson's Spa ; 

My Apperson on Smoking, when I'm pipe-sick. 

—29— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MEDITATION ON BOOKSHELVES— (continued) 

My "Bibelots," "World's Classics," and my "Bohns" ; 

(I'd like to see those books again this minute!) 
My Poe, in Baltimore (at Hochschild Kohn's) 

I got for 19 cents — the mark is in it. 

And does my Conrad go up here? He does. 

And my McFee, whose writing is a strong man's. 
And old Burnand, put out by Roberts Bros., 

And De la Mare, with the imprint of Longmans. 

I must not start upon this theme again ; 

I will compose my longings unto slumber; 
For Harry Smith says he can't tell just when 

He'll get that much desiderated lumber. 

But when brave Harry comes with wood and paints, 
And in their nest my bairns are safely brooded, 

I'll number o'er my literary saints, 

And his good name will surely be included! 



—30— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



RAPID TRANSIT 

(To Stephen Vincent Benet.) 

CLIMBING is easy and swift on Parnassus ! 
Knocking my pipe out, I entered a bookshop; 
There found a book of verse by a young poet. 
Comrades at once, how I saw his mind glowing! 
Saw in his soul its magnificent rioting — 
Then I ran with him on hills that were windy, 
Basked and laughed with him on sun-dazzled beaches, 
Glutted myself on his green and blue twilights, 
Watched him disposing his planets in patterns, 
Tumbling his colors and toys all before him. 
I questioned life with him, his pulses my pulses ; 
Doubted his doubts, too, and grieved for his an- 
guishes, 
Salted long kinship and knew him from boyhood — 
Pulled out my own sun and stars from my knapsack, 
Trying my trinkets with those of his finding — 
And as I left the bookshop 
My pipe was still warm m my Jumd. 



—81— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE VICTORIAN POET 
IN HIS RONDOTAGE 

1AM too old to be ensnared 
By formless verse. For I first aired 
My boyish lyre in Dobson's rule, 
And taught myself in that strict school 
To have my stanzas filed and pared. 

How hopelessly for rhymes I stared ! 
But chipped and polished till I bared 
The finer grain. Discard my tool? 
I am too old. 

I vote for verses craftsman-cared — 
Landor'd, Djobson'd, De la Mare'd; 
For 1 rhyme is still the quiet pool 
Where Beauty is reflected. You'll 
Agree (as many have declared) 
I am too old. 



—32— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



CAUGHT IN THE UNDERTOW 

COLIN, worshipping some frail, 
By self-deprecation sways her 
Calls himself unworthy male, 
Hardly even fit to praise her. 

But this tactic insincere 

In the upshot greatly grieves him 
When he finds the lovely dear 

Quite implicitly believes him. 



—83— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



SUNDAY NIGHT 

TWO grave brown eyes, severely bent 
Upon a memorandum book — 
A sparkling face, on which are blent 

A hopeful and a pensive look ; 
A pencil, purse, and book of checks 

With stubs for varying amounts — 
Elaine, the shrewdest of her sex, 
Is busy balancing accounts! 



Sedately, in the big armchair, 

She, all engrossed, the audit scans — 
Her pencil hovers here and there 

The while she calculates and plans ; 
What's this? A faintly pensive frown 

Upon her forehead gathers now — 
Ah, does the butcher — -heartless clown — 

Beget that shadow on her brow? 



A murrain on the tradesman churl 

Who caused this fair accountant's gloom! 

Just then — a baby's cry — my girl 
Arose and swiftly left the room. 

84— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



SUNDAY NIGHT— (continued) 

Then in her purse by stratagem 
I thrust some bills of small amounts- 

She'll think she had forgotten them, 
And smile again at her accounts! 



—35— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO HIS BROWN-EYED MISTRESS 

Who Rallied Him for Praising Blue Eyes in His 

Verses 

JF SOMETIMES, in a random phrase 
(For variation in my ditty), 
I chance blue eyes, or gray, to praise 
And seem to intimate them pretty — 

It is because I do not dare 
With too unmixed reiteration 

To sing the browner eyes and hair 
That are my true intoxication. 

Know, then, that I consider brown 
For ladies' eyes, the only color; 

And deem all other orbs in town 

(Compared to yours )„ opaquer, duller. 

I pray, perpend, my dearest dear ; 

While blue-eyed maids the praise were 
drinking, 
How insubstantial was their cheer — 

It was of yours that I was thinking ! 

— 36— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



PEACE 

WHAT is this Peace 
That statesmen sign? 
How I have sought 
To make it mine. 

Where groaning cities 

Clang and glow 
I hunted, hunted, 

Peace to know. 

And still I saw 

Where I passed by 
Discarded hearts, — 

Heard children cry. 

By willowed waters 

Brimmed with rain 
I thought to capture 

Peace again. 

I sat me down 

My Peace to hoard, 
But Beauty pricked me 

With a sword. 

—37— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



PEACE— (continued) 

For in the stillness 
Something stirred, 

And I was crippled 
For a word. 



There is no peace 
A man can find; 

The anguish sits 
His heart behind. 

The eyes he loves, 
The perfect breast, 

Too exquisite 

To give him rest. 

This is his curse 
Since brain began. 

His penalty 

For being man. 



—38— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MOUNTED POLICE 

WATCHFUL, grave, he sits astride his 
horse, 
Draped with his rubber poncho, in the rain ; 
He speaks the pungent lingo of "The Force," 
And those who try to bluff him, try in vain. 

Inured to every mood of fool and crank, 

Shrewdly and sternly all the crowd he cons: 

fThe rain drips down his horse's shining flank, 
A figure nobly fit for sculptor's bronze. 

O knight commander of our city stress, 

Little you know how picturesque you are! 

We hear you cry to drivers who transgress: 
"Say, that's a helva place to park your car!" 



•39— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



SONG, IN DEPRECATION 
OF PULCHRITUDE 

BEAUTY (so the poets say), 
Thou art joy and solace great; 
Long ago, and far away 

Thou art safe to contemplate, 

Beauty. But when now and here, 
Visible and close to touch, 

All too perilously near, 

Thou tormentest us too much! 

In a picture, in a song, 

In a novel's conjured scenes, 

Beauty, that's where you belong, 
Where perspective intervenes. 

But, my dear, in rosy fact 
Your appeal I have to shirk — 

You disturb me, and distract 
My attention from my work ! 



—40— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



ON A WHITE MUSLIN DRESS 
IN A MODISTE'S WINDOW 

DEMURE whfte frock which I espy. 
What slender damsel will buy 
This miracle of dainty dress 
And grace it with her loveliness, 
The bliss of every doting eye? 

Upon a dummy figure lie 
These tender folds, and seem to sigh 
Some softer bosom to possess, 
Dfemure white frock ! 

I can't resist. The price is high, 

But my cigars I will deny; 

I'll get the thing for you, dear Bess, 
And when you wear it, I'll confess 

How utterly entrancing I 
Deem your white frock! 



HIDE AND SEEK 



A VALENTINE 

TO HER whose glamor moves and stirs 
And bids me try to do her honor, 
Whose peerless beauty made me hers 

The first time I laid eyes upon her — 
Whose profile thrilled my boyish dream 

And made a shrine for youthful passion, 
Whose magic is the chosen theme 

Her lovers praise, each in his fashion — 
Who turns her ever-changing face 

To fit the moods that men bring to her. 
And in her heart can find a place 

For all who venturously woo her — - 
To her who, beautiful and great, 

Deserves a more pretentious ditty — 
To her, in love, I dedicate 

This Valentine — to New York City! 



— m~ 



HIDE AND SEEK 



IN RE ALFRED EMERY CATHIE 

(To All Butlerians, but especially Moreby Acklom) 

IN 1887, Alfred Cathie 
Became the private clerk of Samuel Butler; 
And Butler made a wise choice, for (i'faith!) he 
Could ne'er have found a f aithfuller or subtler. 
For Butler, lord of satire and of whim, 
Was not (we guess) the kind of man whom all 
Would understand; but Alfred worshipped him, 
And smiled at his O God! O Montreal! 



O Cathie, liv'st thou still? Or art thou gone 
The Way of All Flesh to The Haven Fair? 
If so, we know that in some Erewhon 
Thou find'st thy waggish master waiting there- 
(For he who every mortal foible mocks 
Would ask not Paradise, but Paradox.) 
Cathie, the author of that deathless Toot: 
"Yes, there's tobacco in it — you may go !" * 



x See "The Notebooks of Samuel Butler," New Edition, 
p. 251. 



HIDE AND SEEK 



DAFFODILS 

IF daffodils were merely yellow flowers, 
It would not hurt my heart to see them 
grow — 
But ah, they speak to me of April hours 
And gardened mornings now so long ago. 

For daffodils are memory and token 

Of vanished days too tender to be sung, 

Before a single happy dream was broken 

In my love's gentle heart when she was youngs 



44- 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO HIS MISTRESS, DEPLORING THAT 
HE IS NOT AN ELIZABETHAN GALAXY 

WHY did not Fate to me bequeath an 
Utterance Elizabethan? 
It would have been delight to me 
If natus ante 1603. 

My stuff would not be soon forgotten 
If I could write like Harry Wotton. 

I wish that I could wield the pen 

Like William Drummond of Hawthornden. 

I would not fear the ticking clock 
If I were Browne of Tavistock. 

For blithe conceits I would not worry 
If I were Raleigh, or the Earl of Surrey. 

I wish (I hope I am not silly?) 
That I could juggle words like Lyly. 

I envy many a lyric champion, 
I. e., viz., e. g., Thomas Campion. 

—45— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO HIS MISTRESS— (continued) 

I creak my rhymes up like a derrick, 
I ne'er will be a Robin Herrick. 



My wits are dull as an old Barlow — 
I wish that I were Christopher Marlowe. 

In short, I'd like to be Philip Sidney, 
Or some one else of that same kidney. 

For if I were, my lady's looks 

And all my lyric special pleading 

Would be in all the future books, 

And called, at college, Required Readmg* 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE INTRUDER 

AS I sat, to sift my dreaming 
To the meet and needed word, 
Came a merry Interruption 
With insistence to be heard. 

Smiling stood a maid beside me, 
Half alluring and half shy; 

Soft the white hint of her bosom- 
Escapade was in her eye. 

"I must not be so invaded," 
(In an anger then I cried) — 

"Can't you see that I am busy? 
Tempting creature, stay outside! 

"Pearly rascal, I am writing: 
I am now composing verse — 

Fie on antic invitation : 

Wanton, vanish — fly — disperse ! 

"Baggage, in my godlike moment 
What have I to do with thee?" 

And she laughed as she departed — 
"I am Poetry," said she, 

—47- 



HIDE AND SEEK ' 



CONFESSIONS IN A HASH-HOUSE 

I'M THROUGH! 
Seven years I've worked at this hash coun- 
ter, 
Stooping down five hundred times a day 
To shout down the dumb-waiter to Pete 
(That Polack never pays any attention, 
I can't get a thing I ask for) 
And spilling a line of cheerful chatter 
To my customers. 
I should think men would get tired of kidding. 

Those guys that are so particular, 

Send back their scrambled eggs for another 

three minutes, 
Must have their tomatoes on a side dish 
And not on the meat, 
Gee, I'll bet when they're home 
They take what comes to them 
And shut up about it. 
And I'll bet that the fresh guys 
Who pull the jazz talk day after day 
Have mighty little to say at home. 
Men are a bunch of fakers: 
—48— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



CONFESSIONS IN A HASH-HOUSE— (continued) 

If I ever get one where I want him 

I'll make him behave. 

I'll bean him with a sad-iron. 

I'm tired of kidding the bunch. 

I'm tired of listening to their yap about what 

they like 
And what they don't like. 
Just for a change I'd like to see some one 
Come in here and order his lunch and eat it 
Without trying to be funny about it. 
If all this stooping wasn't so good for the figure 
(But, oh, my back, by six p. m. !) 
I'da quit long ago. 

Well, girls, I'm through. 
Next week I'm going to marry a fellow, 
And I don't mind telling you, I'm in luck. 
He works in a restrunt on Girard avenue, 
So he won't ever be home to meals. 



— 49— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TIT FOR TAT 

1 OFTEN pass a gracious tree 
Whose name I can't identify, 
But still I bow, in courtesy; 

It waves a bough, in kind reply. 

I do not know your name, O tree 
(Are you a hemlock or a pine?) 

But why should that embarrass me? 
Quite probably you don't know mine, 



—50— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE TWINS 

CON was a thorn to brother Pro- 
On Pro we often sicked him: 
Whatever Pro would claim to know 
Old Con would contradict him ! 



—51— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE 
TENDER-HEARTED 

(Dedicated to Don Marquis.) 



SCUTTLE, scuttle, little roach- 
How you run when I approach : 
Up above the pantry shelf, 
Hastening to secrete yourself. 

Most adventurous of vermin, 
How I wish I could determine 
How you spend your hours of ease, 
Perhaps reclining on the cheese. 

Cook has gone, and all is dark — 
Then the kitchen is your park : 
In the garbage heap that she leaves 
Do you browse among the tea leaves? 

How delightful to suspect 
All the places you have trekked : 
Does your long antenna whisk its 
Gentle tip across the biscuits? 
52— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



NURSERY RHYMES— (continued) 

Do you linger, little soul, 
Drowsing in our sugar bowl? 
Or, abandonment most utter, 
Shake a shimmy on the butter? 

Do you chant your simple tunes 
Swimming in the baby's prunes? 
Then, when dawn comes, do you slink 
Homeward to the kitchen sink? 

Timid roach, why be so shy? 
We are brothers, thou and I. 
In the midnight, like yourself, 
I explore the pantry shelf! 



—53— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



n 



ROCKABYE, insect, lie low in thy den, 
Father's a cockroach, mother's a hen. 
And Betty, the maid, doesn't clean up the sink. 
So you shall have plenty to eat and to drink. 

Hushabye, insect, behind the mince pies: 
If the cook sees you her anger will rise; 
She'll scatter poison, as bitter as gall, 
Death to poor cockroach, hen, baby and all. 



ni 



THERE was a gay henroach, and what do you 
think, 
She lived in a cranny behind the old sink — 
Eggshells and grease were the chief of her diet ; 
She went for a stroll when the kitchen was quiet. 

She walked in the pantry and sampled the bread, 
But when she came back her old husband was dead: 
Long had he lived, for his legs they were fast, 
But the kitchen maid caught him and squashed him 

at last. 

—54— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



IV 



I KNEW a black beetle, who lived down a drain, 
And friendly he was though his manners were 
plain ; 
When I took a bath he would come up the pipe, 
And together we'd wash and together we'd wipe. 

Though mother would sometimes protest with a sneer 
That my choice of a tub-mate was wanton and queer, 
A nicer companion I never have seen: 
He bathed every night, so he must have been clean. 

Whenever he heard the tap splash in the tub 
He'd dash up the drain-pipe and wait for a scrub, 
And often, so fond of ablution was he, 
I'd find him there floating and waiting for me. 

But nurse has done something that seems a great 

shame : 
She saw him there, waiting, prepared for a game : 
She turned on the hot and she scalded him sore 
And he'll never come bathing with me any more. 



—55 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE SUPERMAN 

THE man I give toast to 
And praise in this sonnet 
Has never played host to 
A bee in his bonnet. 
Remarkably moderate, 
Thoroughly sane, 
Indeed odd and odder it 
Seems to my brain 
So few are inclined to 
Give heed to his tone, 
But still have a mind to 
Fool views of their own. 
The wisdom of Sinai is his by the shelf . • • 
Of course you divine I — allude to Myself. 



56— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO A TELEPHONE OPERATOR WHO HAS 

A BAD COLD 

HOW hoarse and husky in my ear 
Your usually cheerful chirrup: 
You have an awful cold, my dear — 
Try aspirin or bronchial syrup. 

When I put in a call to-day 

Compassion stirred my humane blood red 
To hear you faintly, sadly, say 

The number : Bwrray Hill dide hudred! 

I felt (I say) quick sympathy 

To hear you croak in the receiver — 

Will you be sorry too for me 

A month hence, when I have hay fever? 



57— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MY OWN SPRING SONG 

AND now 'tis spring, a lovely scene — 
O poplar trees, long, green, and slender 
Alas that all this tender green 
Is not a legal tender. 



-58— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE URBAN POET 

(Requested to supply a spring poem, while his wife, 
who understands these matters, is away from home.) 

\ 71 TH^^" ree ^ s ^he foetid symplocarp 

V V (Or cabbage, frankly known as skimk) 
And when the frogs, with pipe and harp, 
Begin to whistle and to plunk, 



I think of yellow marigolds 

(They must be yellow, by the name) 
And of the bloodroot that unfolds 

As bright (presumably?) as flame. 



Hepaticas, so frail and , 

And anemones 

That on this covered bank 

Are trembling in the gentle breeze. 



The saxifrage, clear in hue 

(Oh, is it yellow, red or pink?) 
The violet's undoubted blue, 

The Dutchman's Breeches (mauve, I think?) 

—59— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE URBAN POET— (continued) 

The lucid willow by the stream 

With catkins of soft fur ; 

The mountain laurel's gleam, 

All these are lovely, I aver. 

Dear burdock, blossom of my heart, 

Upon your petals glad I look ; 
(I do not know these things apart, 

And got their names out of a book.*) 

Oh, flowery friends of field and wood, 

What pleasure your existence gives. . . • 

And honestly, I wish I could 
Supply the proper adjectives! 

* "Familiar Features of the Roadside," by F. Schuyler 
Mathews. 



—60— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MUSINGS ON A COOL RETREAT 

I KNOW a little hidden pool 
Where happy bathers oft repair; 
Secluded, clear and deep and cool, 

Men find right brave refreshment there, 
And swiftly doffing shirts and panties 
They revel blissful — rari nantes. 

Remote from scenes of toil and teen 
All heat and grievance they expunge ; 

Enjoying in that shimmering green 
The swift shock of a silver plunge, 

And crying "0 deorum quicquid 

We thank thee for this pool : some liquid !" 

Sharp glory of that dive, the first — 
And thrill (but how can it be told?) 

When bodies, slowly falling, burst 
Into the all-encircling cold, 

Then splash, or float among the ripple 

As passive as a participle. 

How far away, you will agree, 

Must lie that cool and placid grot — 

—61— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



MUSINGS ON A COOL RETREAT— (continued) 

Amid the Catskill greenery? 

Some distant Adirondack spot? 
Yet, if you ask where is the place meant — 
The Woolworth Building, in the basement ! 



— m— 



PART TWO: SONNETS 



SONNETS 



QUICKENING 

SUCH little, puny things are words in rhyme : 
Poor feeble loops and strokes as frail as hairs ; 
You see them printed here, and mark their chime, 
And turn to your more durable affairs. 
Yet on such petty tools the poet dares 
To run his race with mortar, bricks and lime, 

And draws his frail stick to the point, and stares 
To aim his arrow at the heart of Time. 

Intangible, yet pressing, hemming in, 
This measured emptiness engulfs us all, 

And yet he points his paper javelin 

And sees it eddy, waver, turn, and fall, 

And feels, between delight and trouble torn, 

The stirring of a sonnet still unborn. 



— £5— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



AT A WINDOW SILL 

r i 10 WRITE a sonnet needs a quiet wwnd. . . . 

JL I paused and pondered, tried again. To 

write. . . . 
Raising the sash, I breathed the winter night: 
Papers and small hot room were left behind. 
Against the gusty purple, ribbed and spined 
With golden slots and vertebrae of light 
Men's cages loomed. Down sliding from a height 
An elevator winked as it declined. 

Coward! There is no quiet in the brain — 
If pity burns it not, then beauty will: 
Tinder it is for every blowing spark. 
Uncertain whether this is bliss or pain 
The unresting mind will gaze across the sill 
From high apartment windows, in the dark. 



—66— 



SONNETS 



THE RIVER OF LIGHT 

I. Broadway, 103rd to 96th. 

LIGHTS foam and bubble down the gentle grade 
Bright shine chop sueys and rotisseries ; 
In pink translucence glowingly displayed 
See camisole and stocking and chemise. 
Delicatessen windows full of cheese — 
Above, the chimes of church-bells toll and fade — 
And then, from off some distant Palisade 
That gluey savor on the Jersey breeze ! 

The burning bulbs, in green and white and red, 

Spell out a Change of Program Sun., Wed., Fri. 9 

A clicking taxi spins with ruby spark. 

There is <a sense of poising near the head 

Of some great flume of brightness, flowing by 

To pour in gathering torrent through the dark. 



—67— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



II. Below 96th. 

The current quickens, and in golden flow 

Hurries its flotsam downward through the night — 

Here are the rapids where the undertow 

Whirls endless motors in a gleaming flight. 

From blazing tributaries, left and right, 

Influent streams of blue and amber grow. 

Columbus Circle eddies : all below 

Is pouring flame, a gorge of broken light. 

See how the burning river boils in spate, 
Channeled by cliffs of insane jewelry, 
Fainting a rosy roof on cloudy air — 
And just about ten minutes after eight, 
Tossing a surf of color to the sky 
It bursts in cataracts upon Times Square ! 



-68— 



SONNETS 



IN AN AUCTION ROOM 

(Letter of John Keats to Fanny Brawne, Anderson 
Galleries, March 15, 1920.) 

To Dr. A. S. W. Rosenbach. 

JTjrOW about this lot? said the auctioneer; 
JL JL One hundred, may I say, just for a start? 
Between the plum-red curtains, drawn apart, 
A written sheet was held. . . . And strange to hear 
(Dealer, would I were steadfast as thou art) 
The cold quick bids. (Against you in the rear!) 
The crimson salon, in a glow more clear 
Burned bloodlike purple as the poet's heart. 

Song that outgrew the singer! Bitter Love 
That broke the proud hot heart it held in thrall — 
Poor script, where still those tragic passions 

move — 
Eight hmidred bid: fair warning: the last call: 
The soul of Adonais, like a star. . . . 
Sold for eight hundred dollars — Doctor RJ 



—69— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



EPITAPH FOR A POET WHO WROTE NO 

POETRY 

"It is said that a poet has died young in the breast 
of the most stolid." — Robert Louis Stevenson. 

WHAT was the service of this poet? He 
Who blinked the blinding dazzle-rays that 
run 
Where life profiles its edges to the sun, 
And still suspected much he could not see. 
Clay-stopped, yet in his taciturnity 
There lay the vein of glory, known to none; 
And moods of secret smiling, only won 
When peace and passion, time and sense, agree. 

Fighting the world he loved for chance to brood, 
Ignorant when to embrace, when to avoid 
His loves that held him in their vital clutch — 
This was his service, his beatitude; 
This was the inward trouble he enjoyed 
Who knew so little, and who felt so muck. 



—70— 



SONNETS 



TO A VAUDEVILLE TERRIER 
SEEN ON A LEASH, IN THE PARK 

THREE times a day — at two, at seven, at nine — 
O terrier, you play your little part : 
Absurd in coat and skirt you push a cart, 
With inner anguish walk a tight-rope line. 
Up there, before the hot and dazzling shine 
You must be rigid servant of your art, 
Nor watch those fluffy cats — your doggish heart 
Might leap and then betray you with a whine! 

But sometimes, when you've faithfully rehearsed, 

Your trainer takes you walking in the park, 

Straining to sniff the grass, to chase a frog. 

The leash is slipped, and then your joy will burst — 

Adorable it is to run and bark, 

To be — alas, how seldom — just a dog! 



-71 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO A BURLESQUE SOUBRETTE 

UPSTAGE the great high-shafted beefy choir 
Squawked in 2000 watts of orange glare — 
You came, and impudent and deuce-may-care 
Danced where the gutter flamed with footlight fire. 

Flung from the roof, spots red and yellow burned 
And followed you. The blatant brassy clang 
Of instruments drowned out the words you sang, 

But goldenly you capered, twirled and turned. 

Boyish and slender, child-limbed, quick and proud, 

A sprite of irresistible disdain, 

Fair as a jonquil in an April rain, 
You seemed too sweet an imp for that dull crowd. . . , 

And then, behind the scenes, I heard you say, 
"0 Gawd, I got a hellish cold to-day!' 9 



—72— 



SONNETS 



SONNETS OF A GEOMETER 

THE CIRCLE 

FEW things are perfect: we bear Eden's scar; 
Yet faulty man was godlike in design 
That day when first, with stick and length of twine, 
He drew me on the sand. Then what could mar 
His joy in that obedient mystic line; 
And then, computing with a zeal divine, 
He called tt 3-point-14159 
And knew my lovely circuit 2 tt r ! 

A circle is a happy thing to be — 
Think how the joyful perpendicular 
Erected at the kiss of tangency 
Must meet my central point, my avatar! 
They talk of 14 points : yet only 3 
Determine every circle: Q. E. D. 



—73- 



HIDE AND SEEK 



SONNETS IN TIME OF TRIAL 

(See Much Ado About Nothing, Act I, Scene 5, 
lines 35-36.) 

I 

QUEER ! there was no premonitory twitch, 
No t wangling of my nerves, to advertise 
All you would mean to me: contrariwise, 
Full-blown your passion seized me : passion which 
Made our relation so supremely rich 
In yearning, wild remorses, and surprise. 
And yet I uttered hardly any cries 
When Pain danced tiptoe in her pallid niche. 

bitter my immedicable woe— 

And must I lose you? Ah, I could not tell ! 
Chimerical seemed life and love and youth. 

1 never knew that I could suffer so 
Until I ate that chocolate caramel 

And throbbed with you, O sorely stricken tooth ! 



—74— 



SONNETS 



II 



I felt that crumbling, teetering thrill again: 
Life was a nausea, earth a black disgrace; 
The sunlight was offensive to my face; 
Man, made of mud, and conduited for pain. 
I longed to probe through tissue, nerve and veia 
And with some thin, sharp instrument to chase 
This lurking fiend of torment from his place 
And free the devil tugging at his chain. 

A shaking, shuddering pang, and I was shent ; 
It seemed to split my skull, without a warning ; 
I thought: I hope I'll soon be dead, by Jove! 
I took my hat and stick, and out I went. 
The druggist, as I bought some oil of clove, 
Said, "What a jolly, sunny Sijnday morning !" 



— T5— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO AN OLD FRIEND 
(For Lloyd Williams,) 

I LIKE to dream of some established spot 
Where you and I, old friend, an evening through 
Under tobacco's fog, streaked gray and blue, 
Might reconsider laughters unforgot. 
Beside a hearth-glow, golden-clear and hot, 
I'd hear you tell the oddities men do. 
The clock would tick, and we would sit, we two— • 
Life holds such meetings for us, does it not? 

Happy are men when they have learned to prize 
The sure unvarnished virtue of their friends, 
The unchanged kindness of a well-known face : 
On old fidelities our world depends, 
And runs a simple course in honest wise, 
Not a mere taxicab shot wild through space! 



76— 



SONNETS 



THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK 

THE sonnet is a trunk, and you must pack 
With care, to ship frail baggage far away; 
The octet is the trunk; sestet, the tray; 
Tight, but not overloaded, is the knack. 
First, at the bottom, heavy thoughts you stack, 
And in the chinks your adjectives you lay — 
Your phrases, folded neatly as you may, 
Stowing a syllable in every crack. 

Then, in the tray, your daintier stuff is hid: 
The tender quatrain where your moral sings — 

Be careful, though, lest as you close the lid 
You crush and crumple all these fragile things. 

Your couplet snaps the hasps and turns the key — 

Ship to The Editor, marked C. O. D. 



—77— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE TWO-MAN SAW 

The rocking, ringing steel sings to and fro, 
A steady buzz, a whang and rasp and hiss ; 

The sawdust spurts and makes twin piles below ; 
Green wood is tough. 

The art is chiefly this: 
Don't bear too hard, but leave it to the saw, 

(Sam holds the other end, and knows the knack) ; 
Pull firmly, but still lightly, on the draw, 

But do not push. Your partner takes it back. 

Then, when your rhythm's easy, going well, 

And back-arm muscles twinge a bit, mayhap, 
Swayed in a kind of dogged swoon, you'll smell 

That lusty savor of hot sun on sap. 
"Well, Sam, your saw, she swings a wicked 

tooth." . . . 
The trunk is through. Sam grins. "You said the 
truth!" 



—78— 



SONNETS 



A SONNET ON OYSTERS 

(Dedicated to Grif Alexander, in honor of a barrel 
that came from Green Holly Creek, Patuxent 
River, Maryland.) 

TO tell the truth, I really never knew 
What oysters were, until, one night this week, 
A barrel came up from Green Holly Creek 
And Grif set up a supper for the crew. 
First, on the shell, most glorious to view, 
Their little sacks, distent and soft and sleek, 
Dribbled with acid lemon- juice, and eke 
Bill's home-made ketchup. . . . And then came the 
stew! 

A stew, I say, since rhyme must needs be sung, 
Though, to be factual, the 'valves were panned — 
And then, the Colonel's gorgeous bowl of punch. 
O zesty broth, serene upon the tongue, 
And ginger cookies, baked by Jim's wife's hand, 
The night Grif broached that barrel for the bunch ! 



—79— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



IN PHILADELPHIA 



1HAVE seen sunsets gild the pillared steam 
Where Broad Street Station hoops with arches 
dark 
The western fire; and seen the looming, stark 
Crags of the Hall grow soft in morning gleam. 

One drowsy eve I wandered far to mark 
The Neck, a land of opal color-scheme; 
And know no fairer place to watch and dream 
Than on a bench in old Penn Treaty Park. 

And there are comers, glimpses, houses, streets, 
With curious satisfaction in the view, 

And unconfessed sweet moments when one meets 
The destiny of human life anew. 

A city rarely beautiful I know . . . • 

It is not men alone who make it so. 



— "" OV ' " 



SONNETS 



II 

I have seen stueets where strange enchantment broods : 
Old ruddy houses where the morning shone 
In seemly quiet on their tranquil moods, 
Across the sills white curtains outward blown. 
Their marble steps were scoured as white as bone 
Where scrubbing housemaids toiled on wounded 

knee — 
And yet, among all streets that I have known 
These placid byways give least peace to me. 

In such a house, where green light shining through 

(From some back garden) framed her silhouette 

I saw a girl, heard music blithely sung. 

She stood there laughing in a dress of blue 5 

And as I went on, slowly, there I met 

An old, old woman, who had once been young. 



-81— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TO MY WIFE 

WHO else, dear eyes of brown, could know 01 
dream 

Our thousand foolish tender little ways? 
Absurdities and trifles though they seem, 

They are the salt and savor of our days ! 
They are too quaint and too ridiculous 

To name them here, or publicly explain ; 
For what is deep significance to us 

Would, to the general, prove quite insane! 
And I, who must be prim ten hours a day 

And talk choplogic, and seem wise, severe — 
How blithely do I cast pretence away 

And whisper sheerest moonshine in your ear ! 
Your laughter is so sweet, it strikes me dumb 
To think how suddenly life's partings come. 



— 8S— 



SONNETS 



HOSTAGES 

"He that hath wife and children hath given hos- 
tages to fortune." — Bacon. 

AYE, Fortune, thou hast hostage of my best ! 
I, that was once so heedless of thy frown, 
Have armed thee cap-a-pie to strike me down, 
Have given thee blades to hold against my breast. 
My virtue, that was once all self-possessed, 
Is parceled out in little hands, and brown 
Bright eyes, and in a sleeping baby's gown: 
To threaten these will put me to the test. 

Sure, since there are these pitiful poor chinks 
Upon the makeshift armor of my heart, 
For thee no honor lies in such a fight ! 
And thou wouldst shame to vanquish one, methinks, 
Who came awake with such a painful start 
To hear the coughing of a child at night! 



-83— 



PART THREE: TRANSLATIONS FROM 
THE CHINESE 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



Dedicated 
without his permission 

To 
William Rose Benet 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE 
CHINESE 



TRANSLATOR'S NOTE 

It is with some reluctance that I accede to the pub- 
lisher's entreaties to put these translations before the 
world of polite letters. I am painfully aware that my 
knowledge of Chinese is rather rudimentary, based as 
it is largely on laundry slips. I cannot help having 
a suspicion that there are a good many of the 40,000 
ideographs with which I am not sufficiently familiar. 
But my readers will sympathize when they realize the 
difficulties of the task which I have set myself. It is 
disconcerting, when spending an evening translating 
the pearly and beautifully chiselled epigrams of No 
Sho or P'ur Fish, to find that the character which I 
thought (by comparison with my collection of laundry 
slips) must mean a pair of pyjamas, would, if so 
translated, give a regrettably intimate and informal 
tone to the verse. It is true that relying entirely on 
"this laundry slip glossary somewhat restricts the scope 
of my translations ; and therefore I have not scrupled to 
do as other devotees of Chinese verse, and when in 
doubt as to the exact meaning of a phrase I have always 
translated it a bowl of jade filled with the milk of the 
moonlight, 

—87— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



TRANSLATOR'S NOTE— (continued) 

Most interesting of all, it will be agreed, is the fact 
that the translations establish beyond cavil that the 
authors of these poems are men very much like our- 
selves. Most of the Chinese poetry that has been 
translated is of a querulous or bibbing sort: it gives an 
unfair picture of a high-spirited and proud race, repre- 
senting them as eternally moaning about maidens with 
finger-nails shaped like filberts, lotus leaves in the moon- 
shine, and death by excess of wine. The Chinese poets 
I here introduce have not been taken up by the poetical 
coteries, because they are of the more familiar sort; they 
are the humorists of China, the Chinese colyumists as it 
were. 

Any proceeds from the sale of these translations will 
be applied to increasing and codifying my collection of 
laundry slips. 

The Translator, 



—88— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



NO SHO 

In my translations from No Sho I have tried, though 
clumsily, to express something of the brooding bitter- 
ness that pervades his work. For a long time he was 
a sort of private colyumist to an eminent mandarin of 
the P'un dynasty. It was his duty to write, every day, 
a number of paragraphs, epigrams, wheezes, and ditties, 
and bring them in the afternoon to his patron's tea 
house. Here he would read them aloud to the mandarin 
and his guests as they sat at their wine and watermelon 
seeds. After each item was read, there would be a little 
music on the Chinese zither, and the assembled company 
would discuss the possibility of No Sho's work being 
taken up by Miss Amy Lowell or Mr. Witter Bynner. 
One day, however, in a fit of pique because the audience 
did not sufficiently applaud one of his apothegms, No 
Sho leaped out of the tea-house into the lake. He did 
not really intend to destroy himself, but only to give 
his employer a fright, thinking thereby to get his salary 
raised; but the water lilies (which are so frequently de- 
scribed in Chinese poetry), were very thick in that pond, 
and their stems got entwined round his neek, and he 
perished. It was obvious that his death was not suicide, 
for he had carefully laid his manuscripts on a bench be- 
fore jumping, and after the excitement (and the poet) 
had subsided it was found that among the papers was 

—89— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



NO SHO— (continued) 

a stamped addressed envelope directed to Lady Editor, 
Well Known Pottry Magazine, Chicago. i In spite of 
the utmost efforts of Mr. Burleson, it was not possible 
to find out who was meant by this; and No Sho's manu- 
scripts were at last sold by the Dead Letter Office; in 
which way they came to my hands. 



SILHOUETTE OF A HUSBAND 

LADIES classify husbands 
Into two classes: 
Those who are "attentive," 
And those who are not. 
I fear I am of the latter, 
For I never can remember 
My home telephone number. 

But my friend Chang Jo 

Always knows his home number. 

He calls up so often to say 

"My dear, 

I will not be home to dinner this evening, 



55 



—90— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



A BURNING BOSOM 

SITTING in this tea-house, 
Looking out on the clear cool water 
And the silver lilies, 

How I wish I could press a dripping lily-pad 
On my burning bosom 
To ease me of my smart. 
A broken heart, you ask, Mar Quong? 
No, no, a mustard plaster. 



INGRATITUDE 

BEARING Walt Whitman in mind, 
I intend to sa^ 
On my deathbed: 
"I regard my poems as 
My carte de visite 
To posterity." 
It is sad to have to add 
That posterity will reply 
"Not at home." 



—91 



HIDE AND SEEK 



PRUDENCE 

TTJfELP! Mad dog! cried some one. 
Xj£ Wisdom, I murmured. 
Is better than rabies, 
And hastened 
In the opposite direction. 



SAFE AND SANE 

MY theology, briefly, 
Is that the Universe 
Was Dictated 
But not Signed. 



LEGES SINE MORIBUS VANAE 

THE Ten Commandments 
Are not really commandments, 
But they are valuable 
Suggestions. 



—92— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



RECIPROCATION 

ONE good nocturne 
Deserves another, 
Said George Sand 
When she met Chopin. 



AN! EJACULATION 

GENIUS, cried the commuter. 
As he ran for the 8.18, 
Consists of an infinite capacity 
For catching trains. 



—93 



II ■ — — g— r»— — — ^— »»^— ill i ■ i t j 

HIDE AND SEEK 






PANORAMA OF A HAPPY EVENING 

Six o'Clock 

WHEN the frogs clear their throats 
Like old club members, 

And the fireflies 

Punctuate the dusk with a network of bright- 
ness, 

Hasten, boy, to His Excellency Mu-Kow, 

And ask him to join me 

In a trifling merriment. 

And be careful 

To stretch two white ropes 

Along the path, 

Lest, when His Excellency totters homeward in 
the darkness, 

He fall in the canal. 

Eight o'Clock 

Welcome, Excellency, welcome! 
You do me too much honor ! 
Lay aside your robe and we will sit in the pa- 
goda. 
Throw your lip over these pickled sharks 5 fins. 
I pray you, be at your ease: 
—94— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 

PANORAMA OF A HAPPY EVENING— (continued) 

Let this evening be conducted on a high philo- 
sophical plane. 

The great Confucius, as you were saying, put 
it neatly : 

Prohibition cannot harm me, 

I have wined to-day. 

Nine o'Clock 

Yes, Excellency, you have said it : 

We live but once. 

Boy! Some more of those curried snails! 

How warm this moonlight is. 

By all means, Excellency, take off your shirt 

If you will be more comfortable. 

Ten o'Clock 

Admirable, admirable! 

To speak sooth, Excellency, I had no idea 

That you could do the Shan-Tung saraband 

with such spirit. 
But — you will pardon me for mentioning it — 
Let me clear away the broken glassware 
Before you dance barefoot on the table. 
The Emperor would never forgive me 
If you should wound yourself — 
Yes, I can see you perfectly from here. 
It is very comfortable here, under the table. 

—95— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



PANORAMA OF A HAPPY EVENING— (continued) 

Eleven o'Clock 

Boy, boy! Make haste! 

I begged His Excellency to tread with care. 
Woe is me ! His Excellency insisted on catch- 
ing a cool, slippery eel 
To lay against his heated forehead. 
Hasten, boy, hasten ! 
His Excellency 
Has fallen into the canal. 



CERTAINTY 

HOW is it that human beings 
Are so certain of everything? 
Every man will tell you, fiercely, 
That he has bought far more lunches 
For other men 

Than have been bought for him. 
And yet, mathematically, 
That cannot be so. 



96— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



CONFESSION 

WHENEVER I meet a handsome man 
I have an irresistible impulse 
To look at the nearest mirror 
The most satisfying form of art 
Is contrast. 



ONE OF MANY 

THE man who told me 
He invented indirect lighting 
Was a liar. 
How about the moon? 



HANDICAPPED 

LIFE is a game of whist 
Between Man and Nature 
In which Nature knows all Man's cards, 
Well, suppose I try you out on trumps, 
Says Nature, 
Leading the mating instinct. 

—97- 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE CODE 

THOSE fireflies sparkling in the willows, 
Here, there, here, there; 
Those frogs piping in the moonlit pond, 
Tweedle, tweedle, tweedle — 
There seems to be a persistent method in it. 
What is the code? 
Is Nature trying to get across some message to me? 



THE POINT OF VIEW 

WHEN the birch tree was cut down 
The birds came and sat on the trunk 
And gossiped. 
In this tree I found the largest caterpillar I ever 

ate, 
Said the robin. 

In this tree I met my first wife, 
Said the wren. 



—98— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT 

ONE of the penalties 
Of being a human being 
Is 
Other human beings. 



ADVICE 

NEVER try to tell people anything 
Unless 
They know it already. 
Even then, 
It is well to refrain. 



FALSE COLORS 

DO not be alarmed by the truculence 
Of my poems. 
I myself am timid, dilatory, 
Fond of plenty of gravy, 
And I hate liquor. 
My motto is, the velvet hand 
In the iron glove. 

—99— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



WHILE IN THE MOOD 

IF there is any kind of poetry 
I haven't written, 
You might tell me about it, 
And I'll do some. 



—100— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



PTJR FISH 

This great poet, who is known to us only by his nick- 
name (given him by his contemporaries because he in- 
sisted on writing in rhyme, when most Chinese poetry, 
as is well known, is in free verse), perished in the 
Bolshevist massacres during the P'un dynasty. He was 
a Mandarin of the old school, and his Critique of Pure 
Treason enraged the republicans of that day. He 
amused himself by poking fun at the other poets of his 
time, particularly those who gathered in societies and 
sodalities and sororities for the purpose of admiring 
one another's trifles. This was very nearly fatal to his 
fame. Only the pungent and terse wit of his verses 
has kept them alive. 



TO THE BROWNING SOCIETY OF 
SHANGHAI 

BE cruel to poets, and don't let them think 
You like their preposterous patterns in ink; 
For poets write better when not overfed: 
The time to praise poets is after they're dead. 

—101— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



POETS EASILY CONSOLED 

THE anguishes of poets are 
Less grim than other men's, by far: 
When other men can only curse, 
The poet puts his woes in verse. 
And Yee Lee, though at first the pang was smart 
When by his friend Wu Wu his bride was stolen, 
Soon asked which best expressed a broken heart, 
A dash, a comma, or a semi-colon? 



AN ARISTOCRAT OF THE P'UN DYNASTY 

JUST as the beheading was all ready to begin, 
"What was yowr offence?" they asked the an- 
cient mandarin. 
The mandarin smiled grimly, as on his knees he sank 
"My offence?" he whispered: "Ah, my offence is — 
rank." 



—102— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



THE ASTRONOMER TO HIS MISTRESS 

THOU art my earth, and I thy moon, 
In orbit ever true to thee: 
O grant thy planet may come soon 
To his ecstatic perigee. 



AUTUMN COLORS 

HOW tedious it seems, and strange, 
That poets should be raving still 
Of autumn tints: it's just the change 
From chlorophyll to xanthophyll. 



—103— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



PO LIL CHILE 

Po Lil Chile is one of the few female poets of China. 
In regard to poetry the position of women in the 
Flowery Republic is very different from the status of 
lady poets in our own dear country. In fact, it is 
considered positively unseemly for ladies to publish 
their verses, and Miss Chile's suitor, Woof Woof, broke 
off the engagement when her volume Chinese Chintzes 
appeared. It is rather pathetic that Miss Chile, in 
many of her verses, represents herself as a married 
lady; this, shrewd commentators have said, shows how 
deeply she deplored that her Art (which she always 
spells with a capital), has sundered her from the hap- 
piness of domestic 'normalcy.' Other critics have said 
that this is purely cynical on her part; and that she 
knew very well that a Broken Heart was the first and 
most essential asset of a female poet. 



THE PIPE OF PEACE 

WHAT is the magic 
Of a corncob pipe? 
No matter how peevish or irritable 
My husband may be, 
—104— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 

THE PIPE OF PEACE— (continued) 

When he is smoking his Missouri meerschaum 

He will do anything I ask. 

Couldn't something about corncob pipes 

Be put in 

The marriage ceremony? 



SHELF DECEPTION 

ON virtue all my soul is bent, 
For though to err is surely human. 
Some day (quite soon) I will repent, 
Return the books that I've been lent, 
And make myself an honest woman. 



—105— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



SAI WEN 

Through no fault of his own, Sai Wen's life was 
marred by tragedy. While a credulous small boy he 
happened to read a history of the United States, such 
as is used in American schools. This had carelessly 
been left lying about by a missionary. One chapter of 
this volume was called "The Gospel of Americanism/' 
and it inflamed the youth's imagination to such an extent 
that he conceived the notion that the United States was 
the only truly happy, virtuous, comfortable and ideal- 
istic country on earth. He immediately subscribed to 
a number of memory, will-power and Chautauqua read- 
ing courses, and made haste to come to America. Alas, 
his disillusion was painful and prompt. One evening 
he strayed into the New York subway at the rush hour. 
The next day he returned to his native land, asserting 
that he was 100 per cent, Chinese. He is now the 
leader of the Damyurize party in China, which hopes 
to pass legislation excluding all Americans from that 
happy country. 

IN A VISITORS* BOOK 

MY favorite kind of scenery 
Is brown eyes; 
My chosen form of endeavor 
Is peeling the froth 
From the top of the tankard. 
—106— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



FRUSTRATION 

A MAN I knew by sight 
And also by hearing 
Said, "I have a good story 
For you." 

After I got around the corner 
I thought what I should have said 
"That is not a story, 
It is an heirloom." 
I hurried after him, 
But he was gone. 



DENY YOURSELF 

IF you haven't any ideas 
Don't worry. 
You can get along without them- 
Many of the nicest people do. 



107— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



REFLECTION 

WOMEN use shop windows to look through, 
Admiring the goods displayed. 
Men use them to look at, 
Finding them agreeable 
As mirrors. 



THOUGHT ON CONVERSING WITH A 
PROMINENT STATESMAN 

IT is all right for a man 
To be absent-minded, 
But his mind shouldn't overstay 
Its leave of absence. 



QUERY 

WHO can alleviate 
The joy of a social worker 
Alleviating 
The sorrows of the poor? 



—108— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



ACID EJACULATION 

IT is always those 
To whom you are kindest 
Who anoint your heels 
With banana peel. 



—109— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



CHU PEP-SIN 

This hitherto unknown satirist is said to have been 
a prince of Tartar blood. He came to the United States 
in the guise of a Chinese laundryman, and in that hum- 
ble capacity became a shrewd observer of certain phases 
of American life. After some years in Philadelphia he 
returned to China. Some of his comments on American 
civilization are regrettably acid. We have chosen only 
the milder accents of his muse for quotation here. 



THE POWER HOUSE 

EVERY day I go past 
The power house on Ludlow Street. 
I look in the open windows 
And see the great dynamos on their shelves, 
They have power enough 
To jazz the earth 

And throw the planets out of step, 
But they make no sound. 
—110— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 

THE POWER HOUSE— (continued) 

I saw a girl with shell goggles 
Dusting some of them, unterrified 
By her proximity 
To such dangerous engines. 
Look out, child, look out! 

Don't get too near the Bernard Shaw circuit- 
breaker 
Or the Walt Whitman flywheel! 



ON A PAIR OF SPATS LAID AWAY FOR THE 

SUMMER 

LITTLE spats, 
Down among the summer mothballs 
Do you hanker for the time 
When you will once more 
Encase her bright ankles 
As they glimmer up and down 
Chestnut street? 
Your gain will be our loss, 
But don't be dogs in the manger, 
Little spats \ 

—111— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THIS INCONSTANCY IS SUCH 

CHESTNUT STREET is dark and gloomy 
11:30 p. m. 
But from an upper window 
Comes the insane ecstasy of jazz. 
Cling-cling of little bells, 
Rattle of drums, 
Tick-tock of the gourds, 
Crash of cymbals, 
Wail of violins on the placid night. 
Life is tragic ; 
Life is damnable ; 

But I do a little scamper of my own 
There on the pavement. 



POVERTY 

POVERTY is always pathetic ! 
1 passed the house of a certain poor man 

And looking through the window I saw 

Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers, a mahogany talk- 
ing machine, 

Cut-glass bonbon dish, pearl-inlaid tables, porce- 
lain bric-a-brac, 

Platinum ash trays, silver toothpick vase, morocco 
bound telephone directory, 
—112— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 

POVERTY— (continued) 

Gold-plated peanut sheller, electric Pomeranian dog- 
washer, 
And not a single book. 
Is there no charitable organization 
To help this poor pauper? 



MISDIRECTED ZEAL 

WHEN I am at work in the office 
A kind of palsy seizes on my soul. 
I feel the whole weight of the universe 
Crushing down on my defenseless spirit ; 
But when I get home at night 
And it is time to go to bed, 
I am as brisk as a ticket seller 
In the box office of a vaudeville show. 
In the sheer lustihood of my exuberance 
I rearrange all the bottles in the medicine closet, 
And with the zeal of Russell Conwell 
Delivering "Acres of Diamonds" for the 5000th 

time, 
I have been known to pursue a cockroach 
From one end of the apartment to the other. 



—113 



HIDE AND SEEK 



FRUSTRATION 

1HAVE given up bathing. 
The doctor told me to go down to Atlan- 
tic City 
And snuff up the salt water. 
He said it would be good for hay fever. 
Rut every time I wade out to the breakers 
And dip my head under the water 
A life guard dashes at me 
And drags me in. 

The next day I see my name in the paper — 
"Saved From the Surf," 
And the life insurance company 
Threatens to cancel my policy. 



ON WATCHING MY STENOGRAPHER 

IF only the mechanism of society 
Were as simple as a typewriter, 
And the management of affairs 
Could be transposed 
From Capital to Lower Case 
By pressing a shift key! 
—114— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



A PLACID DISPOSITION 

I CAN always keep my temper 
When I'm alone. 
It's only other folks 
That rile me. 



A DISCOVERY 

THE worst moment 
In my life 
Is when I am cleaning up the cellar 
And find my magenta tie, 
Three frayed soft collars, 
And the dear old brown pair of trousers 
In the trash-box 
Where my wife put them. 



—115— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



BREAKING THE RULES 

I KNOW a merchant 
Who is an offence to all Rotarians, 
He began business on a shoestring, 
And yet he is not successful. 



—116— 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



O B' OI 

Little is known of the life of O B'oi, who was a timid 
recluse, much persecuted by the authorities for his sa- 
tirical volume entitled The Confusions of Confucius. 
It is said that at one time he was a colyumist on a news- 
paper in Shanghai, but was dismissed for telling his 
employer that 20 taels per annum was but a niggardly 
wage. He was the Kant of China. 

THOUGHTS OF A MIDDLE-AGED 
MANDARIN 

BREAKING in a new idea 
Is like breaking in a new pipe : 
Uncomfortable work. 
I like the old familiar thoughts, 
No bite or parch. 

BUDDHIST LULLABY 

MY mind is an apartment. 
When it is all dark, 
And I am about to sleep, 
Who is that walking 
On the floor overhead? 

—117— 



HIDE AND SEEK 



THE REELING BRAIN 

MY mind is a movie film. 
Who the camera man was, 
I don't know, 
But he certainly shot 
Some queer pictures. 
I always fear 

That some day the film will snap 
And the audience 
Will applaud ironically. 



CONFUCIUS CONFUSED 

I'VE been taking dictation 
From the universe 
For quite a while. 
I've got a bunch of notes: 
Now it's time to transcribe them, 
Queer — 
I can't seem 
To make sense out of them* 



—118- 



TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CHINESE 



CAUTION 

MY mind needs no fire escape. 
It is equipped with automatic sprink- 
lers. 
As soon as an idea catches fire 
They put it out. 
I am heavily insured against 
Inflammatory notions. 



STEAM SHOVEL NEEDED 

MY mind is like the Panama Canal. 
Great ocean-going ideas 
Lie moored in the locks 
Until my thought rises to the level 
Where they can proceed. 
Every now and then 

There is a brainslide in the Culebra Cut 
And all traffic is halted. 



—119- 



HIDE AND SEEK 



NEAP PLUS ULTRA 

MY mind is like the ocean. 
My friends are children playing on the 
beach. 
They bring their little tin buckets 
And make patterns on the sand. 
Once a strong swimmer ventured out 
As far as the breakers. 
He turned back. 
He was afraid of the undertow. 



ANNOUNCEMENT 



MY mind is closed pending repairs. 
After alterations are completed, 
Will reopen in these premises 
With a large line of plain and fancy goods, 



FINIS CORONAT CORONAM 



no ~ 3477 

X272 






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